


Whale of a Time

by asuralucier



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Early Seasons Hijinx, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Pizza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-07 19:38:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20822711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/pseuds/asuralucier
Summary: “How did the topic of us dating even come up?”“Well uh,” Harvey had to think about it a minute. “Pizza?” He tried, finally.Harvey goes fishing for a big fish for Pearson Hardman. However, in order to land this new client, he has to enlist Mike’s help in a rather...interesting way.





	Whale of a Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cookiegirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiegirl/gifts).

> With thanks to flowerdeluce for your artistic know-how!

"I'm sorry, you went and told who what?" Donna stared at him for a long long minute. Harvey got the feeling that what she really wanted to do was bend and knock her head against the filing cabinet. But Donna wasn’t like that, so she turned her back against said filing cabinet and crossed her legs. “Let me just remind you, that Jessica didn’t _ask_ you to do this. You know, before you get any more funny ideas.” 

Harvey stuck his hands in his pockets and balled them into fists. “But it’s a good opportunity.” 

Donna crossed her arms. “You know, in some corners of the world, they might even call that ‘crazy’? As in, you’ve gone _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest_ crazy.” 

Harvey knew that when Donna made it a point to name a movie, maybe he was in big trouble. Still, he stilled himself behind his desk, and told himself it wasn’t so bad. Easier to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission and all that.

Maybe. Donna’s look didn’t give an inch. 

“Come on, Donna. It’s not like I meant to do it.” 

She shifted her gaze to something both scathing and affectionate at the same time. “You didn’t mean to lie about your non-existent long-term boyfriend to Carsen Marvell?” 

Carsen Marvell was a big fish. What they’d effectively call a whale in the business. Just his billables alone would comfortably pay a couple of Christmas bonuses, which, admittedly, wasn’t that far away. Marvell patronized several notable museums in the city, ran a couple of hedge funds collectively valued at fifty million. The New York legal scene promptly lit up early like a Christmas tree in April when word got out that Marvell fired his legal counsel. 

Marvell was also proudly married to his partner of some fifteen years; he’d been first in line when gay marriage was finally legalized in New York. Apparently they’d met at Harvard. Harvey could talk about Harvard all day. Harvey could talk about a lot of things. Even things that were made up. In Harvey’s defense, he knew Mike liked a good pizza and that the best pizza place was on Cambridge Square. It was easy to put the two and two together after a couple of drinks during the tail-end of a business lunch. 

“Does Mike know he’s been volunteered?” 

“You sound like I’m putting him in front of a firing squad.” 

Donna said, “You’re asking an associate to give up his Friday night. It’s practically the same thing.” 

Carsen Marvell had invited Harvey and his boyfriend to the opening of the new Christian Marclay installation at The Swiss Institute in the Village. The dress code was black tie and when Mike rolled up on his bicycle, Harvey noted he wasn’t wearing a bowtie. 

“Do I look like someone who’d own a bowtie?” Mike said, rolling his shoulders back loosely. 

“Here,” said Harvey, fishing an extra out of his pocket, and Mike stared at it. “If you’re gonna work at a place like Pearson Hardman, you better start.” 

“Guess I better,” said Mike. He took the bowtie from Harvey and made to wind it under his collar. “Donna?” 

Harvey waffled over whether to be offended, but then gave up. “Donna,” he agreed, brushing aside Mike’s fumbling hands to straighten the bow. Mike looked like he wanted to protest, but then he stayed still. 

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.” 

A not exactly small line was forming outside of the building and Mike smoothed a hand down the lapel of his suit jacket. “So, Carsen Marvell. What a guy.” 

“What a guy,” Harvey agreed.

“How did the topic of us dating even come up?” 

“Well uh,” Harvey had to think about it a minute. “Pizza?” He tried, finally. 

Mike squinted at him. “That _almost_ makes sense.” 

“I’ll settle for almost,” Harvey said. He was about to say something else when he noticed two men striding towards them. They were Carsen Marvell, and his husband, Roy Ashworth, who apparently worked in investment banking, too. The four of them seized each other up, and Harvey thought his ego was just on the brink. 

But Mike took the lead. He extended his hand first towards Carsen, the taller of the two, and then to Roy. “Hi, Mike Ross. Harvey’s -” his eyes flitted over towards Harvey. “Am I allowed to say boyfriend?” 

“Allowed?” Carsen asked, with a bit of an interested incline of his head. 

“Harvey’s technically my boss,” Mike said. “So it’s. Uh.” 

“You’re allowed to say boyfriend,” Harvey told him. He let his hand settle at the small of Mike’s back and he could feel both Carsen and Roy taking in the touch. “Special occasion.” 

“Harvey wouldn’t shut up about you during our lunch,” said Carsen.

“I kind of get that a lot. He often confuses me with pizza,” said Mike. 

The installation boasted various movie clips of clocks and watches ticking by, projected onto the gallery’s four white walls. The ever changing clock-faces mirrored real time. Normally, gallery goers would wander through the open space rapt with attention. Any conversation would be politely hushed by a member of staff, but tonight the place was cheerful. A veritable list of Manhattan’s who’s who milled around discussing the clips, usually with a champagne flute in hand. 

For someone who was probably not so used to black tie or art galleries, Mike was doing a remarkable job at seeming in his element. When Harvey had asked him for the favor, he’d done so with an armload of information about Christian Marclay and it seemed that Mike had found the time, after all, between the two other depositions he was supposed to be preparing for. He was able to discuss Marclay’s other exhibitions at length. Harvey couldn’t figure out if he found it more amusing that Roy Ashworth looked a bit turned on or that Carsen Marvell looked worried. 

“So how am I doing?” said Mike to Harvey after Carsen had excused himself to say hello to some of the other donors. He plucked a fresh glass of champagne off a passing tray and drank, but he didn’t gulp. Still, Harvey found himself watching the attractive bump of Mike’s Adam’s Apple. 

“Don’t think he’s going to be mistaking you for pizza any time soon,” said Harvey. 

“God, Harvey, are you seriously trying to make that a thing? It’s not even funny.” 

“I wasn’t the one that started it,” Harvey pointed out. 

Mike shrugged and drank more champagne. 

“Look, Mike.” 

“Hm?”

“Sorry if I ruined your Friday night.” 

Mike looked at him. “Donna?” 

Harvey made a face. “Do you want to go sit down?” 

They found a little corner in the gallery, shadowed by the ongoing giant apparition of a grandfather clock. Part of Mike’s face was obscured, but Harvey almost thought that Mike was enjoying himself a little too much. He plucked Mike’s champagne flute out of his grasp and the kid didn’t exactly complain. 

“Yes, Donna,” said Harvey, chasing the sweetness of the alcohol on his tongue. “But I can think for myself. And I am sorry.” 

“If you hadn’t asked me to come to this thing, I’d probably still be stuck at the office with the depositions. And besides, this Marclay guy, he’s pretty cool.” 

“You can’t seriously have read everything I gave you.” 

“Didn’t take me that long,” Mike said. “Besides,” he drew in closer to Harvey now and stole back his glass. “It’s not the first time I surprised you, is it, boss?” 

“Harvey,” said Harvey and kissed him. “And no, I guess it isn’t.” 

“We’d love to stay,” Harvey told Carsen and Roy, when they extended an invitation for a more private drink in the gallery bar. “But Mike and I have a reservation. But I could get the contracts to your office first thing tomorrow?” 

“And we can take a raincheck on that drink,” Mike followed up smoothly. He leaned one arm casually on Harvey’s shoulder and his bowtie was crooked. 

“We’ll look forward to it,” Carsen said, and they shook hands. 

“You know,” said Mike, once they were out of earshot and nearly outside of the gallery. “If you were that desperate for me to get back to those depositions, Harvey, you could have just said. You didn’t have to make up a reservation and get my hopes up.” 

“Who said I was making anything up?” Harvey glanced at him. “I did say tonight was a special occasion. Or did you forget? I got a table booked at Lombardi’s.” 

“I never forget. Let me guess, Donna?” Mike said. 

“Nope.” Harvey shook his head, and took Mike by the elbow. “All me this time.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Christian Marclay](http://www.artnet.com/artists/christian-marclay/)'s art is pretty amazing. The exhibition mentioned in the fic is [The Clock](https://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-modern/exhibition/christian-marclay-clock).
> 
> [Lombardi's](https://www.firstpizza.com/) serves sexy pizza.


End file.
